


some things money can't buy

by aphelant



Category: DCU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-25
Updated: 2010-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphelant/pseuds/aphelant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He pops the cork on his second-best bottle of wine, the one he'd been saving for the day he finally beats Clark and takes over the world (the best bottle is for the day he becomes emperor of the universe, of course), because watching Batman get shot to death by 500 enraged arms supporters is worthy of some kind of celebration, and he can always buy more wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some things money can't buy

**Author's Note:**

> Betty said '[Batman may be running for vice president and giving a stump speech at an N.R.A. rally](http://brownbetty.dreamwidth.org/495865.html)' and it just needed to be written, okay?
> 
> Beta by general_jinjur. &lt;3

Lex settles back on the couch and switches on CNN to watch Batman's stump speech at the NRA rally. He pops the cork on his second-best bottle of wine, the one he'd been saving for the day he finally beats Clark and takes over the world (the best bottle is for the day he becomes emperor of the universe, of course), because watching Batman get shot to death by 500 enraged arms supporters is worthy of some kind of celebration, and he can always buy more wine.

After an interminable introduction -- during which Lex drinks half the bottle -- Batman finally steps up to the podium. A hush falls over the crowd; Lex almost giggles in anticipation.

Batman studies his audience and stands silently, taking them in. He continues to stand there...and stand there...and _stand_ there...until people begin to murmur amongst themselves. He twitches his cape and the crowd goes silent again.

"What the hell is he doing?" Lex asks the television, gesturing angrily with his glass. The wine sloshes over the lip and onto his ridiculously expensive -- and possibly one of a kind -- carpet. Oh well. He'll just buy more carpet, too.

Five minutes later Batman still hasn't started his speech. The crowd is shifty with awkward anticipation; Lex has finished the wine.

Another five minutes later, Batman adjusts the microphone and uncomfortable silence swells from the crowd like a seeping wound. Lex leans forward eagerly, then realizes what he just did and sits back again, fuming. Meanwhile, Batman continues to stand motionless, staring down at the crowd of little tiny NRA people on Lex's screen with what feels like an extra-large amount of intimidation. The crowd practically scuffs its feet.

This goes on for a long additional period of time -- Lex isn't certain how long, exactly. He somehow loses track during the search for the good scotch. And then the first person leaves the rally.

No. No, wait. She doesn't just leave the rally; first she pulls out her handgun, hesitates, _doesn't shoot Batman_, then puts the gun on the ground and _walks away_.

"This isn't happening," Lex says, but it is. Other people are following suit, laying down their arms and walking away, and soon enough the entire crowd of NRA members has disarmed themselves, leaving behind hundreds and hundreds of guns.

Baffled police officers start collecting the weapons and Batman finally steps down from the podium. Lex clumsily digs his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and navigates the QWERTY keyboard as best he can while exceedingly drunk.

**weeel plyaed**, he types, and sends it to Bruce Wayne.

On his television, Batman pulls something out of his utility belt, considers it for a moment, and then presses some buttons before slipping it back into a yellow pouch.

Lex's phone buzzes with an incoming text.

**hahaha r u talkng abt last wk's squash gme??**

"Fucker," Lex snarls, and hurls his phone through the television. That's okay; he can buy new ones.


End file.
